


tell angelica i said hi.

by rescuemechinboyandshowmethestars



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, I KNOW THIS IS A SIN PLEASE DON'T @ ME, Nonbinary Character, SORRY FOR MAKIGN THIS FUCK, it's not serious but it's there, peggy eliza n ham are all background characters, slight D/S dynamic, the author recklessly abuses nicknames in this fic LMAO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rescuemechinboyandshowmethestars/pseuds/rescuemechinboyandshowmethestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>years ago, thomas jefferson spat at hamilton, "tell angelica schuyler i said hi."</p><p>"tell her yourself," hamilton had growled. </p><p>so he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell angelica i said hi.

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW THIS IS SSIN... IM SORRY. I'VE LITERALLY NEVER WRITTEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS BEFORE IT'S GARBAGE. thanks to enj and elizabeth for proof reading it. also this does feature a little text chat scene that's kinda based off of my chat fic, but don't worry, you do NOT need to have read my other fic to understand it! um,,,,,,,, ok bye

               Angelica Schuyler doesn't know where she is when she wakes up. She rolls over, and--

               “Jefferson?”

               Oh, _shit._

               “Hi,” Jefferson says lazily. He raises the corner of his plush mouth in a very self-satisfied smile. Angelica thinks she might have a headache suddenly. All the events of the previous night come back to her in a flash: a dark club, Jefferson buying her a drink, how he dared her to go home with him (she’s never turned down a dare),  Jefferson’s mouth on her neck, her hands yanking his hair, Jefferson’s mouth _other_ places--

               “Holy shit. I thought you begging me to suck you off was a dream,” Angelica says, smirking.

               “I think you called me daddy,” Jefferson retorts, not looking even a _little_ embarrassed.

               “I think I did,” Angelica replies. She’s screaming internally, but she tries to maintain her composure as she takes stock of the situation. She doesn't let her smirk fall for an instant. “And I think you let me.”

               “I think I did,” Jefferson mocks. He runs a finger across her bare collarbone.

               “Get me a shirt,” she says, looking down at her bare chest.

               “Just because I liked you bossing me around in bed doesn't mean you get to do it _outside_ of bed,” he huffs.

               “I don't?” Angelica queries, sucking her lower lip into her mouth. He swallows tightly and goes to his closet, rummaging through his clothes hastily. He comes up with an enormous sweatshirt that says, “ _Columbia Theatre Dept.”_ across the front, and throws it to her. “Thanks.”

               “You want coffee?” he asks, making no secret of how he stares at her bare legs.

               “I want a kiss first,” she says.

               “No regrets about getting fucked by Hamilton's worst enemy?” he asks.

               “Regret is not in my vocabulary, and Hamilton's worst enemy gives as good as he gets,” Angelica grins. Thomas blinks at her, slow and warm. It's not unlike being trapped under the gaze of a very large cat. “Jefferson, kiss, or no?”

               “Yes. And I think you can call me Thomas,” he agrees. He walks over to the bed and sits down next to her again, placing one hand on the small of her back.

               She rolls on top of him, locks her thighs around his waist, digs her nails into his shoulders, and presses a biting little kiss onto his neck. Another press of her lips to his earlobe, to his jaw, a swipe of her tongue on his neck, and-- “Holy God, Angelica, I think you might kill me.”

               “What a way to go, right, babycakes?” Angelica teases. He moans a little, light and airy. So _that_ was a thing that happened. She remembers that noise from last night. She always _knew_ he was a bottom. She hops off of him and snuggles back into his soft sheets. “‘Kay, I got my kiss. You gonna get me my coffee?”

               “You’re a little bit evil,” Thomas pants.

               “You wouldn't like me if I wasn't,” Angelica says confidently. She picks up her phone and starts to text Eliza. “Coffee, angel.”

               “I’m going,” he grumbles, clearly realizing that he's not to get anything else from her right now.

               In his absence, she looks around his room. It’s big, with all the walls, except one, painted a soft shade of ecru. There’s a map on the wall, with pushpins stuck to it, and a framed picture of him and Madison standing in front of the Eiffel Tower with huge grins on their faces. She swallows a laugh. It's tasteful, which is odd, and strangely muted, which is odder, considering that it belongs to such a bombastic man. Jefferson has always been the type to wear paisley with houndstooth--for Christ’s sake, the man has zebra striped seat covers in his Mercedes. Angelica wonders if this is what the inside of his brain looks like: tidy, controlled, utilitarian. He makes a clattering noise in the kitchen, and it jolts her out of her reverie; she returns to her phone.

_You have entered the group:_ **‘hamsquad’**

               **angel(ica):** hey so tjeff and i fucked

               **heavens2betsey:** oh my God….

               **whambamthankuham:** i think im going to faint….

               **angel(ica):** im at his house he's making me coffee

               **whambamthankuham:** i think im going to actually for real faint i might be dead

               **heavens2betsey:** was it good tho

               **turtle:** ^^^^^!!!!!

               **angel(ica):** yes

               **angel(ica):** he begs like a dog

               **turtle:** IM SCREAMIGN

               **angel(ica):** yet another win for angelica

               **lagayette:** OMG WE'VE BOTH BEEN FUCKED BY TJEFF

               **angel(ica):** LMFAO YAS LET'S GET T SHIRTS

               **whambamthankuham:** i can't handle this

               **h0rsefucker:** IM SQUEALIGN

               **whambamthankuham:** FUCK

               **angel(ica):** gtg he's coming back with my coffee

               **heavens2betsey:** HE'S MAKING U COFFFEE???

               **lagayette:** he didn't make ME coffee

               **angel(ica):** you didn't ride his face though did you

               **lagayette:** IM LAIGHIGNGN

               **lagayette:** TOUCHÉ

               She doesn’t notice that he’s stepped inside until he says, “Your coffee, ma'am,” The endearment is half-sarcastic, half-serious. She turns her phone volume off and looks up at him. He hands her the mug; it's black, and extremely hot, which is just how she likes her coffee, and apparently, her people.

               “Sit next to me,” she commands. The mug has a quote from the Declaration of Independence on the side, and the Washington monument on the other. She remembers him telling her last night that his great grandfather _wrote_ the Declaration. (Angelica found him infinitely hotter because of it.) He acquiesces, dropping down onto the bed, loose-limbed. He tucks his head into the crook of her neck and rests there, breathing hot out against her skin.

               “What does your schedule look like today?”

               “Probably going to go home, take a nap, and not think about this,” she says around a mouthful of coffee. It’s sinfully good. “Why?”

               “Will you stay?”

               “Are you getting soft on me?”

               “The opposite, actually,” he grins wolfishly. He puts his hand on her thigh and _squeezes_ , and she lets her knees fall open.

               She’s not a huge fan of staying past the early morning hours. On the other hand, Jefferson is rich enough to spring for lunch. Maybe she can make him spring for sushi. “I can stay for a little longer, I guess.”

               “Can I kiss you?” he asks. He shifts again, pressing close to her, moving his hand from her thigh to low on her stomach. His hands are enormous. His fingers are resting on the band of her underwear (pink lace, with flowers).

               “You already have, haven’t you,” she says, not quite a question. Thomas slips a finger under the elastic of her panties, runs his fingertip against the fabric, testing. She lets him stew.

               “Mhm,” he agrees. Angelica feels oddly triumphant, watching this loudmouth folding under the weight of subservience.

“Okay,” she permits. “Don’t jostle, or you’ll spill my coffee.”

He obeys. He doesn’t jostle, just bends down carefully to lavish kisses on her neck, her chest, her belly. Angelica sips her drink and looks at CNN stories on her phone while he stops shy of the top of her underwear. He looks almost odd, crumpling his tall frame to fit between her short legs. “Can I?” he asks, very serious, searching her face to make sure she’s alright. She looks at her phone again.

“Oh, go ahead. I don’t have to go for a little bit,” she agrees. “Just let me finish my coffee.”

He grunts in frustration, and moves to sit next to her.

“No. You can stay there,” she instructs, without looking away from her mug.

“Oh my God,” he sighs. “You _actually_ want to kill me.”

“You look nice down there, and I do want to kill you, just a little,” she says smugly. She twines her fingers in his curls, and tugs softly. He moans open-mouthed against the skin of her thigh.

“Please,” he whispers, pulling at the lace.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” she asks. She’s drinking her coffee a little faster now.

“Please,” he repeats. He kisses her thigh with a scrape of teeth. Angelica shivers.

“Go on, then,” she sets the mug down.

Her coffee gets cold, but it's worth it.

-o-

She sees him again, later that month, at a party in D.C. that Eliza drags her to. She wouldn’t have gone if Peggy hadn’t begged her to (she’d gotten a bevy of panicked texts from her sibling, imploring her to come so they wouldn’t be lonely). She wears the same shirt she wore to the club that night, burgundy and low cut, but she lets Eliza force a skirt on her that puffs out around her thighs with layers of tulle, instead of the clingy one she prefers. She downgrades from six inch heels to four inch ones to be high-society appropriate, and hopes she'll still be tall enough to be intimidating.

She wishes she was surprised when she sees Thomas there, talking to Washington, making a scene as he always is, but she had a feeling from the twinkle in Hamilton’s eyes that something like this would happen.

He's wearing a plum suit, with black detailing on the lapels, and it looks absolutely absurd, and absolutely perfect. Her mouth goes sort of dry. When he sees her standing next to Hamilton, his cordial smile slips, and he just looks _hungry_ for a moment.

“Hi, Thomas!” Peggy beams, and holds out their hand. If Angelica didn’t know them better, she’d think they were _actually_ excited to see him. Thomas makes eye contact with her over Peggy’s shoulder, but Angelica doesn’t give him the courtesy of blushing. Angelica doesn't give _anyone_ the courtesy of blushing. She is in control, she is _the_ boss. Instead, she takes Hamilton's drink from him, ignoring his protest, and knocks back half of it.

“Peggy, you look lovely tonight,” Thomas murmurs, grasping their hand tightly.

“I know,” Peggy says evenly. Angelica loves them. “A purple suit?”

“Crushed velvet is the only suitable material for evening wear,” he shoots back.

“I can't believe that guy fucked you,” Hamilton mutters in her ear. “He’s so gross.”

“I mean, _I_ fucked _him_ , too _,_ ” Angelica replies. Hamilton chokes on air.

“Angelica, you are a queen,” Hamilton says. “I am so glad we’re friends.”

Angelica squeezes Hamilton’s shoulder and resumes staring at her drink, giving it her full attention.

Thomas is talking to Eliza now, but he can't stop looking over her shoulder to stare at Angelica. Angelica doesn't move, doesn't tug at her skirt to bring attention to her legs, doesn't fiddle with her necklace so his gaze will fall to her chest (even though she _knows_ her cleavage is unreal tonight)--she just takes a slow sip of Hamilton's gin and tonic, and then runs her tongue over her teeth. Thomas sucks in a breath too fast and coughs. Eliza turns to her in confusion, and sees her sister trying not to burst out laughing. She shakes her head disapprovingly, and then returns to socializing like a champ. Angelica desperately tries to maintain her composure.

“Oh my God, he's _whipped_ ,” Hamilton giggles in her ear.

“Ham, if you can't keep quiet, you'll be the death of me,” Angelica whispers, and undermines herself anyway by giggling too.

“Oh my God, he's coming over,”

“I see him. You're not being subtle,” Angelica snorts. Hamilton swallows, obviously trying not to cackle.

“Can I watch this,” he pleads. Why not? She’s always worked better with an audience.

“If you _shut up_ ,” Angelica promises him.

Thomas says, “I guess I ought to make my rounds, but, Eliza, if I had my way, I'd talk to you all night.”

“Oh, Thomas, get out of here,” Eliza trills, polite as ever. “Go say hello to Alexander.”

“Do I have to?” he jokes.

“No,” Eliza responds. They both share a laugh. Hamilton digs his elbow into her side.

“My own girlfriend hates me,” Hamilton grumbles.

“Shut _up_ , he's on his way over,” Angelica hisses. “Say something to me.”

“Anyway, that's why I think Plutarch's _Lives_ is one of the most valuable pieces of literature,” Hamilton says. He's at just the right volume, and sounds natural enough that Thomas will probably think they were talking philosophy the whole time.

She smiles indulgently. “Rousseau is more my speed, Ham, but I won't disagree tonight,” she says sweetly.

Hamilton smiles beatifically in return and rolls his eyes simultaneously, mouthing, _You’re the worst._ She winks.

“Angelica,” Thomas interrupts.

“Hi, babycakes,” she drawls, and raises her eyebrow in a challenge. He stiffens minutely before he takes her hand, flips it, and kisses the pulse point in her wrist with just a _hint_ of teeth.

Hamilton whispers, “Oh my _God_ ,” behind her, and takes her drink out of her other hand. Angelica can hear the glass clink on his teeth as he hastily finishes it. She breathes through her nose, trying not to laugh.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“Don’t I?” She looks down at her wrist. “You’re still holding my hand.”

“I am,” Jefferson says. His fingers are warm and he's exerting the perfect amount of pressure.

“Are you going to stop?” she asks.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Are you going to get a drink with me?”

Angelica resolutely does not laugh. “That depends.”

“On what?” Jefferson inquires, smiling, like he already knows.

“Are you going to make me coffee in the morning?”

“I’ll make you _eggs_ in the morning,” he promises. His eyes are so dark, and they're only getting darker.

“I don't like eggs. Where's the nearest bakery?”

“We can find out,” he breathes. He tugs her a little so they're situated in the corner, hidden from view.

“I need my hand,” she requests.

“Why?”

“So I can do this,” she says. She grabs Thomas's tie and hauls him down to face-level. His Adam's apple bobs beneath his collar. “Do you want to kiss me?”

“A little.”

“Just a little?”

“A lot.” He drops his head. His mouth is so close to hers that his breath washes across her face. He smells like whiskey, and under that, mint.

“Are you going to?”

“Are you going to let me?”

“Maybe if you buy me a drink,” she grins.

“Just maybe?” he says. His eyes are impossibly dark now; they could swallow up all the light in the room, she thinks. She tilts forward.

“Just maybe.”

(The next morning, Jefferson makes her coffee and reads Yelp reviews for bakeries to her.  Angelica stays until the late afternoon, and when he walks her to her car, he kisses her against the driver’s side door so thoroughly that they have to run back upstairs. She tells herself she can't make a habit out of this; she knows she's probably going to anyway.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> SAJDFIOAJDFIJSFSJF IT'S. BAD I'M SORRY BYE. honestly angelica is a cinnamon roll who deserves better but i'm obsessed with daveed as jefferson so here it is. if you see anything?? triggering that i didn't tag, go ahead and comment pls! thank u! i'm on twitter @jamesmadisin and on tumblr @ irltrash.tumblr.com if you want to talk/send writing prompts/whatever. thx for reading!


End file.
